Still Waters
by Rheme
Summary: Harry wasn't the only one. Bridget-Bridgie- Potter was the older sister when Voldemort decided the kill the Potter parents. Since then the Potter children have been immersed in the Muggle world. But all of that will change when they go to Hogwarts
1. Prologue

**Still Waters**

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

Shot with jagged cracks, the slick asphalt road offered the passage to a tiny figure with no cover from the steady patter of rain. In the figure's arms were worn and torn books held, pencils with ripped off erasers and crumpled, lined pages from a notebook were tucked between the yellowed and crinkled pages of the books. The figure stopped the familiar trek when one of the pencils came loose, clattered unceremoniously to the ground, and rolled away towards a curb. c

Scratched shoes hesitated, then obligingly scuffed towards the fallen remnant of another tedious school year. Tempted to leave it behind, the figure shrugged sallow shoulders, abruptly jumping back when a horde of massive, shiny, expensive shoes stomped over the pencil, breaking it in half.

A pompous, yet quite high-pitched voice broke over the quiet drum of rain. "Hey, Bridge! We're really gonna miss you while you're off to secondary! Where'd you say you were going?" The boy, Piers-aptly named after his voice-taunted. Moving forward, he shoved the figure in the shoulder.

The figure clamped her mouth shut. She was a sickly waifish figure with ratty clothes and knobby knees to big for her own legs. Shaking her head, dusky flaxen hair moved to the side. She gripped the books tighter when Piers attempted to knock them out of her hands. They didn't budge. "Aww, no fun," he chuckled, self-satisfied.

A more familiar-and even less pleasant-boy, Dudley, made himself known as the ring-leader. He repeated himself several times, in an almost spoiled stutter. "Mummy and Daddy-Mum and Dad...Mummy and Dad didn't wanna waste their time sending her anywhere, a real dolt she is. I reckon they'll send her to that all girls school. You know? The one for the mentally delayed? They take charity cases all the time."

"Yeah! Right outside London!" An excited voice belonging to Malcolm squealed. "That's right! I've heard they take a few alley cats off the street. But I guess they're still cleaner and smarter than you. Huh, Bridge?"

Looking down, the girl tried to hide her bulging jaw. due to grinding her teeth. Still, she did not say anything.

"Alley cat got your tongue?" Malcolm prompted maliciously. Shoving her in the shoulder, she stumbled a few steps to the side, but managed to keep her balance. Due to that attack, she was unable to thwart Piers from whacking her school supplies all over the road. She looked around with wide eyes, hoping she appeared resolute.

The group of boys watched her with cruel fascination for a few more seconds until eyes became glazed over in boredom. Malcolm shifted back, avoiding her intense, wounded stare. "'S wrong with her, Dud?"

Dudley shrugged staring at her. He was always reluctant to call her his cousin. "Dunno. Brain damage I guess, on account of the car crash."

"Does she _ever_ talk?" Piers whispered conspiratorially.

Shrugging again, Dudley kicked a textbook, successfully flipping it over and open, so the pages soaked up the rainwater on the road.

"Hey!" Malcolm chanted, jumping up once. "Let's go find her brother. At least he'll put up a fight. And he's not nearly as stupid as she is."

Nodding once, Dudley began to walk in the direction the girl was originally supposed to be going. The others followed behind him, like disciples, in a tangled cluster.

As soon as their backs were turned, the girl dropped down to the road to retrieve her supplies. Her skirt didn't cover her knees completely and caused the big, ugly things to turn red.

She grabbed a sheet of paper, only to have it fly out of her hand and sail towards the group of bullies. She went to grab for a pencil. Hand about to grab it, it shot out from under her and flew forward. Suddenly, all the school supplies were up in the air, bursting forward. The bullies began to yell when they realized they were being pelted. Piers was hit in the back of a head with a textbook, a paper sticking itself over Malcolm's face. A pencil knicked Dudley's cheek. He clapped a hand over the bleeding skin and viciously turned on his heel.

The school supplies were now lying in a pathetic pile at his feet, his dear, _dear_ cousin scrambling up from where she knelt in the street. She could feel her knees protesting as she straightened both legs.

Pointing a finger at her, the other hand clapped to his cheek, Dudley took one, menacing step forward. Teeth bared, he snarled at her, "You're never gonna get out of that cupboard now."


	2. Quiet

**Still Waters**

* * *

**One: Quiet**

* * *

Bending down to retrieve the mail, a tiny girl with dark blonde hair scooped up the assortment of letters and pattered down the carpeted hallway to the kitchen. Magazines and envelopes were paged through along the way. She stopped cold in the middle of the hallway when a thick envelope with heavy parchment jarred her.

_Miss B. Potter _was printed in eccentric calligraphy.

_Miss B. Potter_

_The Cupboard under the Stairs,_

_4 Privet Drive,_

_Little Whinging,_

_Surrey._

Nearly dropping the letter in fear, she quickly gathered herself and ducked into the parlor. Looking around the corner at the motley group sitting at the kitchen table, she glanced meaningfully at the bespectacled boy with messy black hair standing at the counter. He didn't see her.

Sighing, she tossed the other mail onto an overstuffed ottoman and tore open the letter, taking careful notice of the red seal in the upper left corner of the envelope. An "H" stood in the center. She couldn't make out the other etchings on the symbol.

Poring over the letter, she read quickly and stuffed letter and envelope into her pants, rolled at the waist and ankles numerous times.

"Bridget!" A shrill Aunt Petunia called.

Picking up the other mail, she arranged it messily and spitefully tossed the bundle across the kitchen table.

Uncle Vernon slammed both hands down. "You don't _toss_ mail, you _hand _it, _girl."_

Not bothering with a reply, she stalked further into the kitchen in a kind of daze. At the table, her cousin harped about something she cared very little about. She ate very little very quickly, which she pretended to be fine with, seeing nothing much was offered to begin with, at least for her.

At the sink, she scraped off a plate Aunt Petunia had nearly thrown at her.

"Big day tomorrow."

"That so?" Bridget turned to Harry, her younger brother. She handed him the dish for him to dry, when the Dursleys had finally left the Potters to clean the kitchen.

"Dunno if you heard or not, but Dudders turns the big ten tomorrow."

She gave a smile that edged on a smirk. "That's all we've been hearing about for a month. I've just learned to tune it out." She kept the smile complacent a few more seconds before returning to a more neutral expression.

Bridget nudged her brother in the shoulder. "That means your birthday's nearly in a month. Almost a decade old." She ruffled his hair patronizingly, but lovingly.

Shoving her hand away, but mussed up his hair, thinking it helped. "I hate it when you do that, Bridgie."

She shrugged, smiling genuinely for a second. "Yeah, I know," she responded fondly.

The two finished the rest of the dishes and were dismissed for the next few hours. Instead of following her brother outside, Bridgie went into the parlor where she'd read the letter.

Aunt Petunia was delicately paging through a gardening magazine while Uncle Vernon snorfed down lemon sherbet. His stomach visibly seemed to expand while eating.

Bridgie was flamboyant in her entrance, willing to make them notice her presence immediately.

"Keep it down," Vernon said quite jovially. A very simple man, he was his happiest when eating.

"Where's Hogwarts?" Bridgie spoke plainly.

Vernon choked on the sherbet while Petunia's magazine fluttered to the ground. She coiffed her hair, indignant. "Where did you hear that?" Petunia demanded, standing. Like Bridgie, she was a very slight, fair figure. Also like Bridgie, some of her features were too big in proportion to the rest of her body. Bridgie had her knees; Petunia had her teeth. From the few pictures Bridgie had seen of her mother, she knew she looked nothing like Lily Potter.

Producing the letter and envelope, she threw both down onto the end table next to where Vernon was sitting. He immediately snatched it and pored over the letter, redness notching up each time his eyes read a new line. Bridgie noted how long it took him to read the letter.

Vernon and Petunia exchanged long-winded glances. Undoubtedly, Bridgie thought, they had been married so long meaningful looks sufficed for a conversation.

"Well?" Bridgie eventually prompted.

The absurd adults seemed to forget she was there; they looked at her with a predictable amount of contempt and irritation. Their niece matched that look each time.

They seemed to be too stunned for words.

"They know where you keep us," Bridgie began. "Harry and I in that 'cupboard' as they call it. How would they know that?"

"We will not speak of this!" Vernon stammered, mustache quivering. Bridgie had a quick flash, believing that's what Dudley would look like in a few decades, fat and old and stupid. Already two of those things, it was only a matter of time before age claimed her cousin.

Normally, perhaps Bridgie would've backed down. She would've found more covert ways to find out the origin of the letter. She was only so patient. And this was an extreme circumstance that demanded immediate attention, even if the way to achieve that was undesirable. Always sighing, the small girl pointed a slightly shaking finger at the letter. "Read it. What do they want with me?"

With closed eyes, the aunt began to rock herself, muttering "no, no, no" over and over and over. Captivated, the niece stared at her with large eyes.

Preventing an impasse, Vernon bowled forward for the letter and grabbed it with grubby hands. He was up, moving quickly for his size. Bridgie darted after him into the kitchen.

"What are you-" she began, but was cut off by the clicking of the stove.

A corner of the letter and envelope was held over a flame, curling the yellowish paper into black ash. With a yelp, Vernon dropped the entire flaming letter into the sink and turned on the water. The kitchen filled with smoke and it's occupants exited, coughing.

"It's nonsense isn't it? A joke?" Bridgie prodded.

"We will not speak of this."

"If you just tell me the truth I promise I'll never bring it up again; I'll pretend like it never happened. Just-"

"ENOUGH! I am TIRED of your _constant _questions!" While yelling, Vernon grabbed her roughly by the collar of her shirt and began to drag how down the hallway. She fought it this time.

Wrapping tiny hands around his meaty fists, she tried to claw him off. "I want to know! Is that the school you're going to send me to? Somewhere far away from here so I'll never see Harry again?!"

"SHUT UP!" Vernon screamed into her ear.

She winced, heart racing at the uncharacteristic display she was putting up. She was never normally so direct about such things. Deciding to push on, she asked one final question, not really quite sure why she asked it. "Does this have something to do with my Mum and Dad?"

The cupboard door was thrown open, Bridgie thrown in. "NO DINNER OR BREAKFAST FOR YOU! STAY IN THERE AND PRETEND LIKE YOU DON'T EXIST!" Bridgie heard the lock clicking on the other side. Swallowed in darkness, she thought she was alone until Vernon's vicious whisper filled the room. "This has _nothing _to do with your mother and _absolutely worthless father. _This has to do with how much of a _freak_ you are." Then there was silence.

Confused and stunned, Bridgie sat on her tiny cot and wove her hands together, trying to process everything in the dusty, cobweb filled closet. "You don't get to cry," she whispered fiercely to herself.

And she didn't cry.

She sat in the same spot the rest of the night, hearing Vernon and Petunia yelling at Harry to hurry up with making, preparing, and cleaning after dinner. At about nine o'clock, the latch was unbolted and Harry quietly moved in. The door slammed behind him and was locked again.

Harry walked to the center of the small space and clicked on the single, uncovered light bulb. He blinked several times to adjust to the dust. "Were you just sitting here in the dark this whole time?"

"I was just thinking," she responded automatically.

"You do that a lot," Harry observed. He adjusted his glasses and sat down on his own cot, opposite her.

She nodded.

"I heard you coughing earlier," he made another unheeded observation.

She shrugged. "It's dusty in here."

"I could ask them to take you to a doctor-"

Her scoff cut off his offer. "They're not going to do anything. You know that."

The boy agreed helplessly, sad to see his sister like this. "What'd you do?"

"I tried to steal food, Vernon caught me. I don't know if you heard the yelling or not."

Harry nodded solemnly. "I was at the street corner and I heard him yelling. I don't know how normal their neighbors think they are with all that screaming."

"You've seen the types that live in this neighborhood, Harry. The Panetet's have suspicious people coming to their house at odd hours of the night. Miss Figg has at least seven cats. Maybe more, I suspect."

"I like Miss Figg," Harry pouted.

"So do I," Bridgie agreed. "She is very kind, but still a little strange."

"There's nothing wrong with strange," Harry said wisely.

"It would just be nice to be normal." She promptly laid down on the cot, back protesting from sitting in the same spot for so long. Immediately, she wished she hadn't said that.

"Why don't you think you're normal?" Harry demanded, righteously angry.

Rolling up, she glanced at her brother and demanded that he calm down. "It's fine," she insisted. She didn't particularly want to delve into this conversation with her _younger_ brother. He had an annoying habit of trying to protect her. It was supposed to be the other way around.

Doing as she asked, Harry tried to level his temper. "Why don't you think you're normal?" He tried neutrally. There was still a boiling quality under his voice.

She was about to speak but stopped when Dudley began stomping up the stairs loudly, intentionally jumping on each step twice. When she heard his bedroom door slam, only then did she begin to speak.

"Harry, you know that _things..._unexplainable occurrences have been happening to us for years."

"I dunno. You've seen those programs of television. They happen to everyone now and again."

Bridgie vehemently shook her head, knowing her vague suspicions may have been answered-she was still doing her best to deny it, though. "I just wanna be normal, Harry. That's the _one_ thing I want."

He did his best to convince her, even though he was completely sure it wasn't working. Eventually, Bridgie muttered a gruff goodnight and laid down, her back to him. A thin and ripped quilt was pulled up around her shoulders.

Harry glanced at her sadly. "Harry could you turn off that light?" Bridgie asked, voice muffled against a pillow.

"Sure. Night Bridgie."

"Uh-huh," she said.

Harry scrubbed his forehead with confusion and aggravation, noting the unique lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. The was the cause of him to grow out his hair long, after Dudley had everyone at school calling him "Bolty." Although it was a stupid nickname, to a young boy, it was enough to resist Aunt Petunia's rusty scissors when she demanded to cut his hair. Eventually, she gave up on cutting their hair, so Bridgie and Harry were left to cut each others. The ends of Bridgie's hair were greatly uneven, but as it got longer, it became less noticeable. Harry's hair had always been messy no matter what kind of haircut he had.

"Harry, the light."

"I _know_ Bridget; I'm getting it."

When the light was finally out, Harry heard Bridgie give a deep sigh, a sign she would be falling asleep soon.

Saying goodnight one more time, Harry was satisfied when he heard Bridgie's deep wheezing, an indicator she was sleeping.

Taking off his glasses, Harry set them on his rickety nightstand and closed his eyes.

The two children slept surprisingly soundly in their tiny hidey-hole of a room, stressfully unaware of the large catalyst that would soon change the trajectory of their mundane, quite average little lives.


	3. Bite

**Still Waters**

* * *

**Two: Bite**

* * *

"Here, eat it." Harry handed Bridgie who was sitting up in bed, a heel of a loaf of bread.

"Thank you," she said lowly, scarfing down the food in three bites. She swallowed generously, noting her stomach responding immediately, wanting more.

"Uncle Vernon said he'd let you out in a few hours," Harry told her.

She scoffed at her sibling. "Can't I just stay in here? I really don't want to have to suffer through Dudley's birthday."

"Aunt Petunia said you have to make the cakes."

"Exactly how many?"

"Dunno. At least three I'm guessing."

Bridgie groaned, but quickly fell back asleep when Harry was called out to start setting up tables and chairs in the backyard. As promised, Vernon swung open the door to the room, giant head poking around in disgust. He woke his sleeping niece, calling her lazy, useless, freeloader-and a freak as well.

Before she could emerge from the cupboard Aunt Petunia bustled down the hallway and threw a bundle of fabric at Bridgie. "At least _try _and look like a girl today." The door to the cupboard slammed shut.

She unfolded that fabric and laid it down on her bed. Bridgie stared down at a dusty frock with a lacy collar and sleeves. The dress was a yellow and white gingham pattern with threads sticking out in various places. It looked stuffy and uncomfortable. Bridgie morbidly thought that this was the kind of dress a little girl would be buried in.

Regardless, she put it on and struggled with the tiny buttons up the back. Then, she took a splintery, wooden hairbrush and brushed through her soft blonde hair. Parting the hair down the middle, she tried her best to tie it into two symmetrical braids, but ultimately failed. She had no two hair ribbons that were the same color, so she took a lone purple one that was a birthday present from the Dursley's-the best present she had ever received-and tied it in a limp bow on the right side. Her favorite hairbow, gilded with an argyle pattern, she tied on the left side. There was always some guilt associated with that ribbon. A few years ago when Bridgie and Harry were at Miss Figg's, Bridgie snatched it from one of Miss Figg's cats and stuffed it in her pocket. Bridgie was careful never to wear it at Miss Figg's.

The only pair of shoes she owned were scuffed maryjanes with soles that were peeling off the bottom of the shoe. They had been hand-me downs from a neighbor down the road who had three daughters, the youngest now at university.

With permission to emerge from her cave, blinking against the harsh sunlight, Bridgie was thrown into a tizzy of direction. Dudley was already busy tearing through his _thirty-eight_ birthday presents, parents giving in after his incessant whining. He couldn't even wait until the actual party to open them.

Dudley was on the floor surrounded by his shiny new toys while Bridgie whisked cake batter surrounded by Vernon's baseless criticisms of her cooking skills. She doubted he could even pour a glass of milk for himself.

From outside, Bridgie could see Harry exerting himself to carry a folding table alone to a very specific spot Aunt Petunia had designated. Clumsily, one end of the table top fell sideways to the ground, causing the entire thing to tumble downwards, landing on top of Harry's feet. He let out an annoyed yell.

Abandoning his verbal abuse of Bridgie, Vernon moved to his nephew. "USELESS, COMPLETELY USELESS! YOU CAN'T EVEN LIFT A TABLE WITHOUT DROPPING IT!" He didn't seem to realize how ridiculous his words were. "PICK IT UP YOU FOOL, PICK IT UP!"

Harry tried to pick it up, but couldn't.

Bridgie moved to the window and pulled aside the lacy curtain. Vernon grabbed Harry by the scruff of his ripped t-shirt and literally tossed him aside. Reaching for the doorknob, an angered Bridgie began opening the door to her abusive uncle. She and Harry-who was hobbling up from the ground-froze in their spots when Vernon bent down to pick up the table. Only inches away from his red nose, the table top exploded upwards, nailing their uncle in the face, sending him landing on his rump. Bridgie gasped while Harry stifled a laugh.

"_Aaarggghhh!" _Vernon bellowed. "PETUNIA! PETUNIA GET OUT HERE!"

A few moments later, "VERNON! Quit yelling! The neighbors-VERNON, YOUR NOSE!" Petunia shoved Bridgie aside and stood on the steps of the patio. One side of her hair were in curlers, the other side looking like a dirty rag floating in dishwater. She stared in abject horror at the large, bleeding nose of her husband.

Petunia rushed forward, demanding to know what happened.

"It was THEM. Those-those..._freaks!_" He pointed both fingers at Harry and Bridgie.

"Yoohoo! Petunia? Is everything alright?" The Dursleys' next door neighbor, Mrs. Johnson, hung halfway out her bedroom window, waving into the backyard.

With a plastered smile on her face, Petunia waved right back. "Everything is quite alright, Felicity darling. Vernon just seems to have stubbed his toe in the table!"

Felicity Johnson reacted with a jolly "cheerio!" as her window slammed shut.

"Vernon, finish setting up the table," Petunia demanded stonily. "You." She pointed to Harry. "Go get tablecloths and silverware. _Bridget,_ whisk the batter faster. It's clumping. How's my Diddykins? Does he like his presents?" Petunia glanced thornily at Bridgie and walked over to her son, placing a hand under his chin.

He jerked away and muttered something unintelligible, engrossed in a handheld game.

Petunia and Vernon hardly ever called Bridgie or Harry by their names, so it took her a few moments to shake off the harsh, insistent tone her name was spoken on an unfamiliar tongue.

Bridgie glanced down at the dress now covered in flour and contemptuously pondered it. "Don't let this be real," she whispered to herself as she slipped the cakes into the oven.

Dread in the Potter siblings was ever increasing, finally exploding over when the doorbell rang, the reverberations syncopated with a deep barking. At this point, Bridgie and Harry were both standing in the kitchen, helping Petunia glob of extravagant amounts of frosting and icing. "Get the door!" she snapped at them. "I don't care which one, just one of you get the door!"

Both siblings were shaking their heads. Bridgie shoved Harry towards the door, who shoved Bridgie, who shoved Harry...back and forth back and forth they went.

"I'm not getting the door," Bridgie whispered sharply. "You do it! She likes you better."

"She _hates _me," Harry whined.

"_Fine._ She hates you _less."_

"Bridgie, _please_ get the door-"

"Bridget Kathleen get the door!" Petunia shrieked, tossing a wooden spoon at the bickering siblings. That was twice in one day Petunia had used her niece's name instead of calling her 'girl.'

Swallowing any complaint, Bridgie unhappily stomped down the hallway and threw open the door, a grimace on her face. A woman, resembling a swollen balloon, shoved Bridgie aside. The woman removed a fur hat too small for her head. Bridgie jumped up a couple of steps when a slobbering, growling bulldog burst into the foyer. It nipped at Bridgie's feet.

The delightful woman-a female Vernon-lovingly patted the dog on the rump. "Good Ripper," The whale-like woman chortled while shoving down the hallway and squeezing through the kitchen door, bulldog trotting goodnaturedly behind her.

Bridgie poignantly shut the door and began to give heavy, erratic sighs that were so noticeable Aunt Petunia hissed at her to stop by smacking the niece on the back of the head, and ferociously calling Bridgie by her full name, including surname. 'Potter' was uttered with great contempt.

The Potter siblings did their best to ghost food to the table, snapping their mouths shut when the lovely Aunt Marge whacked them in the face, thoroughly blaming them for getting in her way. The fourth time that happened, Bridgie went into the parlor unnoticed and took deep breaths, anger slowly rising. She was normally very good at controlling her temper, but as her anger rose, the strange things began to happen. Humming a tinny song of unknown origin was one of the most effective ways to calm herself.

"What if…?" she allowed herself to wonder an absurd notion for several minutes The train of fantasy was shattered by a familiar cry of distress.

_Harry._

Not knowing what the immediate danger was, Bridgie threw herself into the backyard and stopped herself from falling over against the patio door. Harry was gripping the trunk of a massive oak. He sat on the lowest branch of the thing. Trying to retain balance, one leg dipped close to the ground for a minute and immediately jerked back when Ripper jumped up on stubby hind legs and took a bite at Harry's ratty shoe. The dog got a hold of the lace and yanked it free from the shoe, almost taking Harry down with it.

Picking up tiny pebbles to throw at the dog, Bridgie surveyed the Dursleys. Vernon and Dudley were chortling, chins jiggling. Petunia was busy gazing down at her nails. Marge continually praised her beast for being such a good dog.

"The dog. Not them," Bridgie had to tell herself. Small stones lobbed at Ripper hit him on the rump. It took several before the dog noticed and several more before the creature automatically jumped around and advanced towards Bridgie, growling. Her old shoes slipped up the steps. The dog stopped in his endeavor.

"GIRL! I should let my dog maul you into bits of such an _ugly _dress! How _dare _you throw rocks at my poor baby!" Marge held up a hand, ready to drop, to let the dog attack.

Harry was scrambling down the tree, trying to catch the dog's attention.

Before Marge's hand could drop, Petunia was up. Sharp nails clamped around one of Bridgie's ears as her aunt straightened her up. The two women stared at each other. "Marge, I am quite sorry but I cannot allow this. The blood would stain the stones and the carpet. It's an awful thing to get out. Not to mention, we have some of the most curious neighbors. Feel free to keep that boy in the tree all night. That, I don't mind, so long as that dog stays quiet." Leaving a baffled family, Harry ran back towards the tree when Marge eventually collected herself and turned her hand towards the small boy.

Petunia's grip was impressive and crippling, as if she were expecting Bridgie to do anything but fight back. Bridgie tried several times, but realized it was inevitable. Putting a hand on the girl's back, Petunia lightly shoved the girl into the cupboard and shut the door. Afterwards, the aunt pressed a cheek to the door. "I made a promise to end this nonsense. As much as I would've wanted, letting that dog attack you would've made the situation worse."

Suddenly spiteful, Bridgie banged on the door, once. "So what? No dinner, then?"


	4. Summer's End

**Still Waters**

* * *

**Three: Summer's End**

* * *

The dusk of summer was spent scrounging streets, parks, couches, and anywhere else for shiny little coins. Like a tumor, Bridgie kept her slowly growing pouch of precious metals sloppily sewn into the inner-lining of a ratty sweater. Even in the blistering heat and even in the pounding rain, she wore that sweater and counted the coins in the dark, feeling the weight and size to determine their worth. She always made sure Harry was fast asleep.

Every few days, she would wander into town-destination a secret from everyone, even Harry. To walk there from Number Four Privet Drive would take well over an hour. She tended to leave right after breakfast, but before Harry could wander out and follow her. And once she was in town, her time was spent marvelling at pretty dresses on passing strangers and shiny storefront windows with glossy little things on extravagant display.

She had been five pences short when she left town...and two short as she began the journey home. Two she'd dove for underfoot, and the last one was given to her by a lady wearing a silk dress, who patted both her cheeks and pressed it against her palm. "What a dear, what a sweet little orphan," the lady had said to Bridgie. She gave her about five seconds of unlimited attention, and then continued strolling along the walk, Bridgie nonexistent once again.

When she finally reached the neighborhood, a jetblack shape flew over her head. Something light thwacked the pavement in front. The square parchment identified itself with eccentric writing and an embossed red seal in the corner. It was kicked into a nearby drainage grate within half a minute of hitting the ground.

_They won't stop. Why won't they stop? _Bridgie warily thought.

The letters were coming more and more frequently. Harry had began to notice the absurdity in the amount of owls flying around in broad daylight. Dudley complained several times an owl left a parting gift on his shoulder-Bridgie could say she didn't mind _that_ part too much. But, for the first time, she worked with her aunt and uncle to try and obliterate any trace of the strange letters. She'd spied Petunia opening one once to see what her reaction would be. It matched the first time Bridgie confronted them with the letter. The aunt fell against the wall and clapped a hand over her mouth. Since then, Bridgie knew it was obviously more than some sick joke.

On Lazlo Place-a few streets over from Privet Drive-there was a great commotion that stopped right behind Bridgie.

"There's the stupid one! We haven't seen you for a few days now. Was getting a little worried there, Bridge! Thought they shipped you away already!" Piers Polkiss was of course the first one to instigate the situation. He stepped forward slightly, Malcolm behind him, gripping a dirt covered Harry by the collar of his shirt. As usual, Dudley stood in the back, a sneer on his face and arms crossed, like some Italian-American mafia boss.

The Potter siblings locked eyes, pure looks of desperation. This was _bad._ Bridgie knew that Harry might be able to outrun them, but she knew in a skirt and too-small shoes, she didn't stand a chance against Piers and Malcolm. Even as the leader, Dudley was always the one bringing up the rear when it came to running and chasing down poor victims.

"Ship her off? What do you mean? Dudley?" Harry craned his neck grudgingly to his cousin.

Dudley shrugged half-heartedly. "Ask her."

"Bridgie?" Harry asked quietly.

Unless this had something to do with the letter, she didn't know. She'd heard Dudley taunting her about being shipped off, but nothing from her aunt and uncle. She shook her head. "They've told me nothing, Harry. I don't know."

"She speaks! Amazing!" Piers chortled, ignorant of the tension running through the cousins and siblings.

"Is it that one school in London? Remember Dudley? The one for the retarded?"

Even the wind seemed to stop.

Bridgie sucked in an involuntary gust of air, so much it made her lungs hurt. "Just because-"

"What? I can't hear you! You need to speak up!"

She spluttered. "Just because I-I don't-"

"WHAT?" Piers screamed right into her face, only inches away.

She wanted to scream, but she didn't. She even opened her mouth to. Her hand shot up as if to strike him, but that too felt involuntary. Immediately following that, a gust of wind so strong came from behind her and knocked the five children flat on the ground. Bridgie was the first one up, hurriedly pulling a shocked Harry to his feet. "Come on. Come on."

Finally up, the two sprinted down the street, Harry adjusting his speed so he didn't leave Bridgie behind.

They snuck in through the front door and closed the cupboard quietly. Breathing heavily, Bridgie dropped like a dead weight onto her bed, staring up at the cobwebbed shape of the steps that functioned as a ceiling, while to the Dursley's, they were simply things to be stepped on, taking them up.

"The wind?"

"Harry, I swear…" Bridgie glanced at Harry, who sat on his bed, trying to brush off dirt his forearms.

"But, this kind of thing has happened before. I know you know that."

"Please."

"No. Bridgie, come on. Think about it. These past few weeks especially have been weird. Those strange things have been happening more often. Like, the wind today, and the table with Uncle Vernon and all these owls...have you noticed how strange Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon have been about that post? Usually they make us get it, but now they won't even let us touch it. And _you've_ said so yourself"

"I'm not going to listen to this crazy nonsense, Harry James Potter. I don't want to talk about it and I'm not going to." Completely deflecting, she looked away from her brother, who now seemed eager to believe the wildness to preached to him a few weeks prior.

"Really? Bridget Kathleen Potter, if _you_ know something you need to tell me. You at least owe me that."

"I don't _owe_ you an explanation. If I don't want to talk about it. I'm not going to." She desperately wanted to storm out of the room, but figured holding her ground was more important. Not to mention, she didn't want to be met by a torrent of bottom feeding insults and possibly thudding punches from fleshy fists.

"Is this about what they said about you? Because you know that's not true. If anyone's..._retarded_, it's them. You're smart."

"I know," she said softly. The worst part was that ignorant, unintelligent creatures had called her that. They had no basis for calling her that. Bridgie didn't understand how silence translated to stupidity for them, because she knew as soon as they opened their mouths, Dudley and his friends proved who the real idiots were. Silence was a defense mechanism. After being made fun of and criticized for any spoken word, clamming up was a natural reaction. There was also that, and Harry at the other end of the spectrum, who would bite back in anger, provoke the instigators.

"They're not gonna send you to that school. You're gonna go to St. Magpie's like all the other girls in the neighborhood."

"I wouldn't put it past them to send me away. I reckon they'll do the same to you in a year. At least that way they only have to deal with us during the summers."

Harry shook his head. "They wouldn't separate us,"

"Why not Harry? They tolerate us, if that even. Lord knows why they even took us in in the first place. You've heard the way they talk about Mum and Dad. What possibly could have made them want to raise us? What could they have possibly gained from that? All they got were some orphans for a niece and nephew. Harry, we're those kids everyone whispers about in the hallway. The bully's freak cousins that live under the stairs." Any friend Bridgie was ever on the brink of having was scared away by Dudley. Worse than that: any potential friend she could've had was also turned against her by her own cousin. The same thing happened to Harry, only worse.

"We're not freaks. And don't talk about Mum and Dad like that." Harry wrapped his arms around himself.

"I'm not the one talking about them like that. And even though they're dead, I like them even more because of how much the Dursley's loathe them. Anything the Dursley's hate, that's good enough for me to love."

"How about because they're our parents?"

Bridgie shrugged sadly. "They're dead Harry. Do you remember them? Because I certainly don't. All I hope for, is this is the life we wouldn't have had if they were alive."

The younger brother uncomfortably shuffled his feet on the concrete ground. Bridgie watched him knowingly. "Harry, if you need to say something...say it." She marvelled that he could talk back to any abusive figure but couldn't speak his mind to her, his sister. She did consider herself to have a normally very calm disposition.

"It's just...the way you talk...it makes me sad sometimes."

"I'm sorry you think that, Harry. Unfortunately, that's reality. Or at least my reality."

"Why though?" He pleaded. His muddy palms were held out in question. His messy hair covered the wrinkles in the forehead and the jagged lines of an angry, red scar.

She tapped her chin with a pointed, ragged nail and gestured around weakly to the four walls and low ceiling-if it could even be called that-and the concrete floor. "This is reality. Well...at mine. Harry, the mind is a powerful thing."

He shrugged. "I suppose so. But do you really have to feel sad all the time?"

Bridgie, at the same, time trapped and uncertain, delicately pressed a hand against her side, subtly looking for the comfort of the hidden bag of coins. There was an eerie sense of calm panic when fingers splayed over a flat sweater.

"I think so."

"You _think _so? Do you _want_ to feel sad?"

Dizzily standing, Bridgie passed her brother, putting a hand on his shoulder as she went to keep herself from falling over. "I appreciate the worry, but it's ill-placed, Harry; I'm older than you."

Harry was silenced by that, almost guiltily looking down as the ground as Bridgie slipped out the front door, beginning to retrace her steps in order to find the pouch of money. She knew the little value most of her belongings held, even to herself. While the bag of coins held a monetary value of not even three pounds, the intent behind the bag was massive enough to cause Bridgie to retrace her steps in the abrupt change of weather. The clouds were incredibly low and saggy, dark and brooding. The wind was sharp and biting.

She wrapped the flimsy sweater around herself, tighter and tighter, wanting to scream and curse everything. She suspected Dudley or one of his goons managed to snatch it during the freak windstorm-or at least that was what she claimed it was. Between the four of them, she figured Dudley would have procured the tiny treasure, as he was the alpha...some_how. _

She scrounged and scrounged well past the setting of the sun, spooking at strange shadows and a cacophony of sounds she didn't know were even possible. The street of Privet drive was slick and glistening, reflecting rippling yellow orbs from streetlights. Dewy drops clung to Bridgie's lashes while hair and clothing were soaked. All doors and windows were locked when Bridgie finally made it back to the Dursley's. When she sighed against the doorknob, the golden lock clicked softly. Grateful and also minutely disturbed, the cold and drenched girl was careful to lock the door behind herself. The heavy carpet squelched under wet soles.

It had only been a few days away. _Sorry Harry,_ she thought guiltily as she climbed into bed, wet clothing and all.


End file.
